


that which dulls as it delights

by WinterRose527



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Car Accidents, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of addiction, Mentions of hospitals, Mentions of past abuse, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Past Relationship(s), Robb Stark/Roslin Frey - Freeform, and some angst, and you all are about to get dragged on a journey through it, but it's not going to be singing her praises either, graphic depictions of the city of New York, i miss it, idk - Freeform, it's gonna be a journey people, it's not going to be totally anti, it's safer and smells better than the J train, or maybe not so, so don't worry about that, you know me and what I'm about
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:20:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29661645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterRose527/pseuds/WinterRose527
Summary: The thing about living in New York City is that you just never know - you never know if you're going to step on a cockroach in your apartment (though you probably will at least once), or if the F train will come on time (though it probably won't even once), or when the city that has taken everything from you will suddenly give you everything in return.Robb Stark has newly moved to the city he never wanted to live in and the one his sister had sworn she'd never leave. He hadn't planned on connecting with Myrcella Baratheon, Sansa's best friend, but as the song goes: In a New York minute *everything* can change...
Relationships: Myrcella Baratheon/Robb Stark
Comments: 37
Kudos: 45





	1. Somebody going to emergency...

“Thanks,” Robb handed the delivery guy some cash as he took the brown paper bag the man offered.

The man looked at it as though it was a foreign substance, and Robb knew that he must be one of the only people in the city who tipped this way. He had never trusted those delivery service websites not to take a cut of the tip he left though, and he was sure this way at least that it was going to the right person.

The guy walked away and Robb closed his door behind him, bringing it into the kitchen. Or rather, the wall that consisted of an oven and stove, sink, dishwasher and refrigerator and spilled into his living room.

The apartment had been marketed as _loft-style living_ , which he’d learned in Manhattan real estate speak translated to “your kitchen will not have four walls”.

It was a big room, though, with a large wall of windows on the opposite side. It never got fully dark in here, the city lights spilling into it in all of the most cliché ways.

He opens the bag and pulls out a burger, his mouth already watering. He’d had dinner a few hours earlier but it had been at some trendy little tapas place in Chelsea, chosen for him by his boss, and hadn’t nearly satisfied him.

The French Onion Soup Burger from Penelope’s was one of his favorite things about New York City. It was, in fact, one of the only things he liked about New York City, or what he’d seen of it since he’d moved here three weeks earlier.

Penelope’s was close to his apartment in Murray Hill, and had been recommended by one of the guys in his office who also lived in the area. It had quickly become a bit of a standby for him, even though he knew he could have far more exotic things delivered to him in the same amount of time.

He could still remember Sansa exulting it one of her first nights at college: _You can have anything delivered here!_

He’d reminded her then that one of the reasons she’d wanted to go to Columbia had been precisely because it was in New York City, and she couldn’t be seeing very much of it if everything was being delivered to her dorm room. She’d merely laughed and said _sometimes after a night enjoying the city a girl just NEEDS lemon cake ice cream delivered at four in the morning, and you can’t do that anywhere else, and that’s the beauty of New York._

So far, he hadn’t had anything delivered at four in the morning and he certainly hadn’t spent any nights out enjoying the city. The guys from his office had been welcoming in a way that told him they saw him as competition for just about everything. They’d take him out for a beer under the guise of office comradery and use it as an opportunity to interrogate him about everything from who he was currently sleeping with to the roster of clients he’d purportedly brought along with him when he’d joined the firm.

Half a year after graduating from Columbia, on another one of their phone calls, Sansa had told him: _Everyone here wants more, it doesn’t really matter of what. The beauty and the tragedy of New York is that it serves as a never ending reminder that there is more to life than the one you’re living, and if you strike it just so, all of it can be yours._

He personally saw more tragedy than beauty in that, an entire city full of people and the only thing they all had in common was an insatiable greed, but Sansa had said it with the wistful romanticism that would not too long after be trampled out of her voice – another New York City tragedy - and as though he could feel it coming he hadn’t bothered to argue.

Robb didn’t bother with a plate, taking his burger over to the couch and turning on ESPN. There wasn’t much on but he wasn’t paying attention, so it didn’t really matter as he devoured his burger.

He looked around the room as he polished it off. There were still boxes against the wall, a half-built bookshelf that he’d lost steam with on Tuesday night. He knew he could hire someone to build it, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to look his Dad in the eye come Christmas if he did. There was nothing on the walls, no plants.

To anyone else, it might seem sort of sad, and he knew that it was, but living in a mostly empty apartment amongst boxes in a city he had no love for felt good. There was no more pretending, no charade of happiness. No forced domesticity that only served to illustrate a stunning lack of intimacy.

Here, amongst his boxes, he was for the first time in a long while, exactly as the world saw him. A twenty-six-year-old single man, working in Finance, living in Murray Hill, as much a cliché as the lights spilling into the room in which he sat.

His phone buzzed and he figured it was Theon drunk dialing him from Chicago, and his heart stopped when he saw Sansa’s name on the caller ID.

“Sansa?” he answered immediately, “Are you alright? What time is it there?”

“Robby,” she cried into the phone and he stood up, braced for action though he was entirely useless if his sister was in trouble.

“Sansa, what is it? Are you hurt? Are you alright?” he asked.

She sounded vaguely inebriated. Sansa could be just as guilty of drunk-dialing him as Theon, but ever since she’d moved to Paris, anytime they spoke even when she was sober it was like he could hear champagne bubbles in her voice.

It had been a long time since she’d sounded like this.

“It’s El - _Myrcella_ ,” she whimpered, a fresh sob wracking her and tearing his heart in two, “She was in some sort of accident.”

“But you’re alright?” he asked.

“I’m fine, Robb!” she snapped and then let out another sob, “But she’s at the hospital and she’s unconscious and I… I can’t get a flight out. Will you go to the hospital?”

The relief he felt was powerful, knowing that Sansa herself was unharmed.

“They won’t let me in,” Robb reminded her.

“Make them,” Sansa argued. He then heard her taking deep calming breaths which for some reason tore at his heart even more than the sobs, “If it weren’t for her-“

“I know,” he sighed, walking towards his door.

“And if it weren’t for me-“

“I know that too,” he agreed.

“Please, Robby just –“

“Sansa? I’m already on my way,” he promised, because of course he was. Because she was right and because it was her who was asking. “What hospital is she at?”

“She’s at Tisch, it’s right around the corner from you,” Sansa told him.

“Yeah, want to be my navigator?” he asked, desperate to keep her on the phone, knowing that if he didn’t she’d be inconsolable.

He could hear a small smile in her voice when she said, “When you get out of your apartment turn right.”

He headed down in the elevator, waving at his doorman as he opened the door and turned right out of the building. She had him turn right once again on 30th street and he headed east, towards the river.

“And when you see all the ambulances, you know you’re in the right place,” she teased hollowly.

“You know that doesn’t narrow it down as much as you’d think here,” he joked. She tried to laugh but it turned back into a sob, “She’s going to be alright.”

“You don’t know that,” Sansa argued.

“No,” he agreed, “I don’t. But we both know she’s tougher than she looks.”

“Yeah,” Sansa agreed.

The hospital really was just around the corner from his apartment, which he realized that he vaguely knew from all the sirens he could hear at night. The city seemed to be perpetually in a state of alarm, so constant that its residents no longer even looked up from what they were doing.

“I’m here, Sansa, I should find out where she is,” he said.

“Call me as soon as you know anything,” she demanded and then said, “Thank you, Robby.”

The gratitude in her voice made him feel ashamed for hesitating.

“Of course, I’ll keep you posted, try to get some sleep,” he suggested though he knew she wouldn’t.

“Okay, love you,” she said.

“Love you too,” he agreed and hung up.

The complex was huge and there were plenty of people milling about. He went to the information desk and a middle-aged woman glanced at him.

“Hi there, I’m trying to locate a patient,” he said, “Her name is Myrcella Baratheon.”

“What is she in for?” she asked.

“She was… in an accident, I assume she’s in the ER,” he answered, realizing just how very little information he had to go on.

The woman nodded and said, “You can follow signs for the Ronald O. Perelman Emergency Services, just that way.”

“Thank you,” he said, his eyes following where her finger pointed.

“You know they won’t let you in if you’re not family,” the woman noted.

“Yeah,” Robb agreed absently but he was already walking towards the signs.

The hospital seemed a city unto itself and he walked in the direction a number of other people were going, following the signs that pointed towards the ER.

The crowd seemed to thin as he walked, but all of the crying ones, the most desperate ones, were headed in the same direction he was and it made his stomach twist.

He walked into the waiting room, that seemed deceptively calm for what it was. There were people sitting and waiting, though none actually seemed to be waiting for care the way you always saw in tv shows.

Robb went over to the desk and asked, “Is Myrcella Baratheon here?”

The man behind the desk looked down at something and then nodded, “She was brought in about an hour ago.”

“Is…,” he started to ask, feeling the weight of the situation for perhaps the first time, “Is she alright?”

The man looked at him with a sort of sympathetic pragmatism, and Robb couldn’t imagine how many times he was asked that question every day.

“She’s not critical,” the man told him, “But I don’t know much more than that.”

“Okay, thank you,” Robb said, offering as much of a smile as the room they were in made appropriate, knowing that he’d need this man on his side if he wanted any chance of seeing Myrcella, “Will you please let me know when you know anything else?”

The man looked at him, “Are you family?”

“Not exactly,” Robb admitted.

The man sighed and said, “They won’t let you in to see her if you’re not family. A bit antiquated in the city everyone comes to to escape their family, but ah well, I don’t make the rules.”

Robb couldn’t help but smile more genuinely at that, because in truth he hadn’t even thought of it.

“Is there any rule against me waiting here?” he asked.

“No,” the man allowed reservedly. Robb suspected he wasn’t the first person to play this game.

“Thank you…” Robb said and then glanced at his nametag, “Sam.”

The man’s face brightened so quickly that it was almost heartbreaking. He knew the city could make people feel anonymous, unseen, and he couldn’t imagine how much his job exacerbated that. Most people viewed him likely as either a mere vessel of knowledge or a harbinger of doom.

He held out his hand, “I’m Robb Stark.”

“Sam Tarly,” the man said shaking it and then leaned forward and admitted, “And you should know I have very little power here.”

Robb chuckled and nodded, “An honest man, I like it. I’ll just be here, and if I _happen_ to overhear something, so be it.”

Sam grinned and nodded, though in truth he didn’t look hopeful. Robb took the empty seat, closest to the desk and pulled out his phone.

He texted Sansa and let her know that he was here but that he didn’t know anything else. The fact that his parents hadn’t both called and texted told him that Sansa hadn’t reached out to them. She’d long grown out of calling them for every little thing, and the big ones too, not wanting to be comforted. She’d only called him because he was the only one in a position to actually do something, even if it didn’t quite feel like it.

He had a text from Theon: _What have you got cookin’ for this Thirsty Thursday?_

Robb rolled his eyes at his outdated fraternity-speak and typed back: _I’m in the ER actually. I’m fine but Myrcella Baratheon – Sansa’s old roommate – was in a car accident._

Theon started typing back immediately then responded: _No shit, that hot-as-fuck blonde? What are you doing there?_

RS: _Sansa asked._

TG: _Fair enough. She gonna be okay?_

RS: _I have no idea._

TG: _Do you even know her?_

RS: _Not really. I mean, I did a bit when we were kids but not really. Sansa wanted me to message her when I got to the city but I hadn’t gotten around to it yet._

TG: _Yeah because your social calendar has been so fucking full, right?_

TG: _Did you miss the part where she’s hot-as-fuck?_

RS: _Considering she’s lying unconscious in a hospital bed right now, maybe let’s talk about her with a little more respect._

TG: _Ever the prince, you really can’t resist a damsel, can you Stark? Alright, she’ll be respectfully referred to as Miss Baratheon until she wakes up. But if you’re bored while you wait you should really look at her Instagram which is what I’ll be doing for the rest of the evening…_

RS: _Very respectful._

Robb put the phone down and thought about what Theon had said. In truth, he was right, which was upsetting in and of itself, but Robb had practically no social life since he’d moved to the city a few weeks before and yet he’d resisted reaching out to Myrcella all the same.

He didn’t really know her, not the way Sansa did. They hadn’t spent any real time together since they were kids and though he’d seen her, on weekends she’d come to Chicago with Sansa, or the couple times he’d visited Sansa here, it wasn’t like they were friends.

Knowing Sansa, she’d urged Myrcella to take pity on her _new-to-the-city-and-just-divorced-brother_ and he really hadn’t felt like sitting across from someone at a bar who probably knew all the details of his life even though he’d told her none of them himself.

Now he wished he had though, if only so that if he was able to finagle his way into her hospital room that she wasn’t waking up to a stranger.

_Though you’re not, not really_.

In spite of himself, he opened up Instagram and went to her page. He’d followed her a couple of years back, though he was rarely on it and was sure she wasn’t a part of his algorithm to come up with any sort of frequency.

Her handle was @ellebelle and her posts fit the name. He knew that all of social media was a completely constructed reality, there had been enough pictures of him and Roslin smiling to prove that, but Myrcella’s version of reality seemed to be bathed in pastels.

For a girl as _hot-as-fuck,_ as Theon had so eloquently put it, as her, there were surprisingly few pictures of her. There were a few, to be sure. Her, with her eyes bugging out of her head and her mouth open, clearly about to attack an ice cream cone with some sort of pale purple ice cream on it. Her, sitting on the pink velvet couch that Sansa had been so delighted by when they purchased it, in pajamas with her feet tucked up underneath her, eating noodles with chopsticks out of a Chinese food container, another of her sitting at an outdoor table of some chic bistro, cradling a puppy in her arms and making a kissy face at it as the dog’s tongue was stretched out clearly in an attempt to lick her with the caption _love at first sight is real, ya’ll._

These were the minority though. It seemed, to him anyway, that she’d found every spot of greenery in the entire city. She’d tagged them all, Central Park, Prospect Park, McCarren, Tompkins Square, Carl Schurz. There were pictures from galleries and museums, and the occasional bagel appreciation post. There were pictures of her friends. Lots of Sansa, looking young and glamorous and all-together too thin, exactly as she’d want to be seen.

She’d grown up on an old plantation, though of course she didn’t like to call it that, in South Carolina and yet seemed to him a New Yorker in a way he never would be. And though she didn’t show any signs of influencer culture, her posts were the type that he could imagine would make someone want to move here, because if they only did, maybe they could be as thin/beautiful/happy as she seemed to be.

_There is more to life than the one you’re living, and if you strike it just so, all of it can be yours,_ Sansa had said, almost as though she’d heard it somewhere.

He clicked out of her Instagram having learned nothing useful except perhaps that he ought to try Anita La Mamma del Gelato and looked at Sam. The man shook his head sympathetically and Robb rubbed his eyes. It was just past eleven and he had no idea how long he was going to be here. Though he was sure this place had a cafeteria, he didn’t want to risk leaving and missing out on information so he just sat and waited.

He tried to ignore the other people in the waiting room, but he hadn’t yet learned the blinders that everyone else had here, that would allow them to walk by homeless people without a glance, or how to not ask the crying girl on the subway if she was alright.

After a little while a doctor came out and he sat up straight and then stood when the doctor turned towards him, Sam having pointed him out.

“Are you waiting for Myrcella Baratheon?” the woman asked.

“Yes ma’am, I’m Robb Stark” he said formally, a bit on edge from her violet eyes and severe expression. “Is she alright?”

“I’m Doctor Dayne, I’ve been attending to Miss Baratheon,” she informed him, “Are you family?”

“Not… exactly,” he said, wishing he’d come up with something to say rather than looking at pictures.

The doctor sighed, “I can’t release any information or allow you to see her if you’re not a family member.”

He had known this was coming and yet he found himself frustrated by it, “Look, my sister is her emergency contact –“

“Is she here?” Dr. Dayne asked.

“No, she lives in Paris now,” he admitted, “And she asked me to come here… that girl in there… is as much as sister to her as I am a brother, so I guess that means she’s my family too.”

He was surprised as he said it that he believed it. He was here for Sansa, but he was not leaving until they allowed him to see Myrcella. He wasn’t sure what it was, if it was the people crying in the chairs next to him or the smell of rubbing alcohol or what, but he was not going to let Myrcella wake up here on her own. Even waking up to him, a relative stranger, was better than that.

“Be that as it may,” Dr. Dayne said, “I still can’t let you see her.”

He appraised the doctor briefly. She was an emergency room physician and he couldn’t imagine how many horrors and emotions she saw in a single day. He doubted she would be persuaded by anger or sadness or desperation. There was no way she’d be able to do her job and sleep at night if she was.

So he didn’t try to persuade her with any of that.

“She’s twenty-five years old,” he told her, “And her emergency contact is a girl that’s half a world away. Her family isn’t coming and she shouldn’t wake up here alone,” he took a deep breath as the realization set in, “I’m all she’s got.”

Dr. Dayne appraised him and said, “I can’t let you see her unless you’re family, so I’m going to ask you one more time: Are you family?”

He was about to lose his damn mind and he opened his mouth to give the doctor a piece of it and then she did the most surprising thing of all. She winked at him.

“Yes,” he sputtered out, hoping he wasn’t committing some sort of crime, “Yes I’m family.”

As though he’d flipped a switch, Dr. Dayne immediately became a wealth of information, “Miss Baratheon was admitted a little under two hours ago. She had blunt trauma to the right side of her body and was unconscious.”

“Is she awake now?” he asked.

“Not yet,” she told him, “When we deemed it safe we began to give her pain medication, but it should be any time now. We’ve been able to run some tests and she does not have any damage to her brain or her head, apart from some cuts and bruises. She has two broken ribs, and sustained cuts and bruises on nearly the entirety of the right side of her body.”

“But she’s going to be okay?” he asked.

“She will,” Dr. Dayne said, “She was very lucky.”

“Thank you,” Robb said genuinely, “Can I see her?”

“I’ll take you to her,” Dr. Dayne nodded and then lead him down the hall.

“Do you know what happened?” he asked. “How it happened?”

“Not very much,” Dr. Dayne admitted, “She was in a taxi on Park Avenue and an oncoming vehicle hit her side of the car head on.”

“She… should be dead… shouldn’t she?” he asked, wondering how someone survived that.

Dr. Dayne looked at him and smiled, “Apparently not.” She gestured towards a room, “She’s just in here, when she wakes try to keep her calm, a nurse will be in every so often to check on her.”

He thanked her again and she walked off and he stood hovering in the doorway. He had been so focused on getting here that he had no idea what to do now that he had.

The only thing to do though seemed to be to step inside, so he did. And immediately his knees buckled.

The way Sansa spoke of her, you could almost believe she was eight feet tall, but in reality she was diminutive. They’d put her in a hospital gown and she was tucked underneath some blankets, but he could still see too many tubes and wires and a beeping little machine suggesting a life he could scarcely believe looking at her.

He stepped closer and to him, for a moment, it seemed as though someone had halfway peeled off her mask. The left side of her face was perfect, unblemished, unharmed, the little birthmark underneath her eye winking at you even now as though everything was one great big joke.

Her right side though had angry, purple bruises that shouldn’t have been able to form so quickly protruding from it, and lacerations that had been efficiently sewn up. Her neck had bruising too, and a stitched cut from where he was sure glass had shattered, and he knew that if he lifted the covers he’d see further patterns still.

Had he really felt relief when he heard it was her in here?

It had been a year since he’d seen her last but it wasn’t that memory of her that stuck in his head. He remembered her at six, back when their families still took a vacation together in the summer. Her missing front tooth was always on display as her mouth was set in a perpetual smile, and he could hear her giggling with Sansa as his Dad wrapped a giant beach towel around them both.

He had another memory of her, on a day when it almost seemed like neither one of them would ever smile again. That one made him ashamed he’d hesitated to call her family.

Robb grabbed one of the chairs and pulled it to her bedside. He took his phone out and texted Sansa the bare bone details: _She’s going to be okay, I’m just waiting for her to wake up. She broke two ribs but otherwise seems to be mostly cuts and bruises. I’ll send you more details as I have them, but she’s going to be okay._

Sansa texted him back immediately: _Thank you, Robby. Tell her I love her, when she wakes up, and that I’ll be there as soon as I can._

He agreed and then put his phone away and waited. After twenty minutes or so a figure appeared in the doorway. He turned, expecting to find a nurse, but found a man in black jeans and a leather jacket standing there looking at her.

“Can I help you?” he asked, standing up.

He didn’t even realize that he was blocking her from view until the man peered around him.

“Are you her family?” the man asked.

“Yes,” he agreed, no hesitation now. Then repeated, “Can I help you?”

“I’m Jon Snow,” he told him, offering his hand. Robb glanced at it warily, wondering if he was a boyfriend that had somehow sweet talked his way in. “I’m a police officer, and was at the scene tonight.”

“Oh, hi, Robb Stark,” Robb said, shaking his hand, “She’s not ready to talk yet, and when she does, I’d like her to have a lawyer.”

“She doesn’t need one,” Officer Snow said, “I don’t use this word lightly, but she’s innocent. The victim. But the taxi driver won’t talk probably for fear of getting blamed somehow, and it would be helpful to hear what happened from her.”

“She’s not awake yet,” Robb told him, “And will need some time when she is. It could be a couple of days until she’s ready to talk.”

“That’s alright,” Snow noted, “The other driver is just going into surgery as we speak. I don’t need to rush her I just… was on my way home and wanted to see how she was doing.”

“You do that a lot?” Robb asked.

“Sometimes,” Snow admitted.

_When the victim is young and beautiful,_ Robb filled in ungenerously.

He nodded warily, then realized he needed information from him, “What happened?”

“She was in the back of a taxi headed North on Park, a drunk driver was on the same side of the street heading South,” Snow said.

“Are you serious?” Robb asked, rage coursing through him.

Snow nodded, “Yeah. As far as I can tell, the taxi driver understandably panicked, and tried to get off the road, and the drunk driver struck Miss Baratheon’s side of the car head on.”

“And yet we are wasting time and money performing surgery on him,” Robb seethed, “He should have been left on the side of the road. He could have killed her.”

Officer Snow nodded, “I know. It’s a funny world we live in. But if he does live, I’ll throw the book at him. Know that.”

Robb couldn’t help but turn back to look at her, stepping closer to the bed.

“She was lucky,” Robb shook his head, the words feeling false as he looked at her sleeping form.

“Luckier than the others,” Snow agreed.

“Others?” Robb asked, “Did he hit someone else?”

“No, no, it’s just this city. It’s relentless,” Snow said and Robb tore his gaze from her to look at him. The officer’s gaze wasn’t on him though, it was on her. He wondered if he hadn’t misjudged him. It didn’t look predatory, he looked devastated. “Every year thousands of girls just like her come here, and as though someone, somewhere, was intent on teaching them a lesson for what? Their youth or beauty, the audacity of want? It always finds a way. If it’s not a car on Park Avenue it’s something else.”

Robb knew that better than anyone, almost.

“You’re wrong about one thing,” he told him though. Officer Snow raised his eyebrows and he shook his head, feeling a smile tug at his lips, “There aren’t thousands of girls like her. And if someone out there is trying to teach her a lesson, well, they might just learn one in return.”

Snow smirked and nodded then reached into his pocket and pulled out a card and offered it to him, “Call me when she’s up to talking.”

Robb took it and pulled out his own walled and handed him a card, “Call me when he’s out of surgery. I want to know what comes of him.”

“I won’t be giving you his room number,” Snow noted and Robb smirked and nodded. The officer looked at the card, probably trained to take in every detail of what was around him. “Chicago? You got here awfully fast.”

“Old card,” Robb noted, “New ones haven’t come in yet but the cell is the same.”

Officer Snow nodded and then looked once again at Myrcella, “I think you’re right. That car, going that speed. I certainly wouldn’t bet against her…”

Robb thanked him and the officer left so he went back and sat in his chair.

After a few minutes he saw her eyelids start to flutter.

“Myrcella?” he asked.

The fluttering became more purposeful and she started shifting a bit. He saw the fear on her face before her eyes even opened and he stood up.

“You’re okay, you’re alright,” he promised, “You’re in the hospital but you’re going to be just fine.”

She stopped moving and her eyes blinked open, different looks of confusion on either side of her face.

“Is Sansa okay?” she asked with a hoarse voice.

“Yeah,” he nodded, feeling the sudden childish urge to cry. “Yeah, Ella she’s fine.”

“What happened?” she asked.

“You were in a car accident,” he told her, “You’ve broken two ribs but there are no other major injuries.”

He could see that she was confused but he didn’t want to flood her with information.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Sansa was worried about you,” he explained.

She nodded and then winced and his fingers went to her unharmed cheek as though he might steady her.

“I’m going to get a nurse, alright?” he asked.

“Will…,” she started, her lower lip trembling, “Will you just wait a minute?”

“Yeah,” he promised, walking around to the other side of the bed, and perching on it as gently as he was able, “Yeah I won't go anywhere until you tell me it’s okay.”

“Okay,” she took a deep, steadying breath, blinking away tears.

A single one fell out of the side of her eye and he brushed it with his thumb.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “That she called you.”

“I’m not,” he told her honestly, “You shouldn’t be alone. And she loves you, she wanted me to tell you that.”

“I love her too,” she told him.

“I’ll tell her,” he promised and then further still, “But she knows that.”

“Did I hurt someone?” she asked.

“No, _no_ ,” he urged, “You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“The Christmas trees,” she mused.

“What?” he asked.

“I like the Christmas trees on Park Avenue at this time of year,” she admitted, fresh tears forming in her eyes, “I sound like such a child.”

“Sansa loves them too,” he remembered.

“We would go every year,” she admitted, “The day they put them up. With hot chocolate,” she let out a sad laugh and then winced once again, “And then we’d walk arm and arm like we were in an old movie.”

He smiled, “Sounds like you two.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wandering over his face, “You never called me.”

“No,” he admitted.

“But you’re here,” she said.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “And like I said… I’m not going anywhere.”


	2. The thrill of first-nighting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy to hear you're on board with the story! It came to me sort of randomly so I'm happy people would like me to continue. 
> 
> Each of the chapters are going to be lyrics from songs about New York (I know I know, what a cliche!) so if you have any favorites let me know. 
> 
> This starts with Ella and ends with Robb, I hope you enjoy!

_The Christmas trees were alight all down Park Avenue. Each of them seemed the exact same size and shape, as though someone, somewhere had determined the perfect proportions that would elicit the most joy._

_One year, she and Sansa had taken the train to Larchmont. There was a street there known for its Christmas decorations. They had bundled up, though the day had been unseasonably warm, and gotten Peppermint Hot Chocolates even though neither of them really cared for them all that much, and walked up and down the street. It was cheerful and garish and rather than take the 6 home from Grand Central, she’d suggested a taxi. When they got in one, Sansa had given their address and without a word of discussion had said ‘take Park, please, we don’t care if there’s traffic’._

_Unlike that cozy street with its oversized houses and its melting snowmen, there was nothing garish about Park Avenue, at least from the window of a taxi. She knew, as well as most, that what lurked inside the robber-baron mansions might be a different story entirely, but the brick and limestone retained a quiet dignity in a city known for its noise._

_On that little street in Larchmont there had been every different sort of light she could imagine. Flashing and steady, white, icicle, primary colors and even one with emoji faces on them, a spectacle of self-confidence. On Park Avenue though, each Christmas tree was wrapped in soft, white lights. It made her think of Spanish moss wrapped in twinkly lights, one of the only things she ever missed about home._

_It was as dark as it ever got in the city, and the white lights of the trees blurred as the taxi traveled North._

_And then suddenly it was bright, too bright, and there was a harshness to the white-yellow light, and a car horn blared loudly, disrupting the quiet dignity all around._

*

The way she jolted awake caused her body to seize and she grunted with pain.

“Ella?” someone asked from the doorway, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, thank you, how are you?” she answered through gritted teeth.

“I’d be better if you’d take some more medicine,” he told her and she could feel him walking towards her, even as her eyes squeezed shut.

“I’m okay,” she took deep breaths that would make her yoga instructor proud but felt as useless now as they did in class.

“You’re actually not,” he said, and she felt the left side of the bed dip gently. She opened her eyes and he gestured vaguely in the dark, “That’s what all this is for.”

“Yeah,” she couldn’t help but agree with his logic, and besides, her finger was itching to press the button. “Did you sleep at all?”

“I drifted at one point,” he told her, “What can I do for you?”

“Go home,” she suggested.

She heard the broken breath of a smile, “Except that.”

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Just after four,” he told her. “This place got a bit crazy around three.”

“The witching hour,” she noted.

“Ella?” he asked.

“Yes, Robb?” she returned.

“Are you comfortable?” he wondered.

“Well,” she admitted, “I _was_ hit by a car.”

“I meant in that position,” he pressed on, “Your neck, it sort of…Can I?”

“Okay,” she agreed.

But his hand wasn’t on her neck, it was in her hand. It was so much larger than hers, actually, that hers was in his, but her fingers curved around the back of his knuckles.

“Just squeeze my hand if this hurts, alright?” he asked.

She nodded and then squeezed it as pain shot through her body. He didn’t remind her that he hadn’t touched her yet, he just waited until her grip loosened.

“I’m sorry,” she told him.

“Here we go,” he ignored her.

His other hand moved gently under where her neck met her shoulders, and then up to the back of her head, his forearm underneath her. If he lifted her she didn’t notice because all she felt was a rush of relief so powerful that it brought tears to her eyes.

“I’m sorry I can –“

“No! _Please_ ,” she all but cried.

She sounded so pitiful; her voice had never been well suited to begging.

“I won’t,” he promised, “You’re just squeezing my hand, so I wasn’t sure.”

“Oh,” she said as she realized he was right, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, Ella,” he finally acknowledged an apology. He removed his arm from underneath her and she went to release his other hand, but he didn’t let her, “Why don’t you hold onto this one for now, in case you need it.”

“Okay,” she agreed and winced as she laughed lightly.

“Do you think you can go back to sleep?” he asked.

“I can try,” she told him, opening her mouth as little as possible. She closed her eyes, it felt so much better with them closed. “Will you go home?”

He sighed, “You know, this’ll be a lot easier if you don’t try to kick me out every five minutes.”

“By that logic,” she noted, “Wouldn’t it also be a lot easier if you left?”

He chuckled softly. It was an intimate sound in the dark. Her hand in his. It might have been an intimate sound anywhere.

“I’m sorry,” she said once again, “I’m usually nicer than this.”

“Well, I’d say getting T-Boned on Park Avenue justifies a little crankiness,” he offered kindly.

“No, it doesn’t,” she argued anyway. “Not when the person getting it doesn’t deserve it. You’re so kind to be here, I wouldn’t want you to think I don’t know that.”

She wasn’t sure if he had been planning to say something, though she imagined if he had been that it would be evasive and self-deprecating. People like him never seemed to understand the singularity of their goodness.

He was interrupted having to demure and she was stopped from needing to repeat when his phone started buzzing.

“It’s Sansa,” he told her.

It wasn’t much of a surprise. She didn’t imagine many other people called him at four o’clock in the morning.

“You can answer,” she told him, because he seemed to be waiting for permission.

“Hey Dovey,” he answered.

In proof of how quickly people could adjust to things, she smiled with only the left side of her mouth.

She couldn’t remember how many times she’d heard him sound exactly like that. Sansa liked to call him as she cooked or baked, or painted her toenails, so she’d have him on speakerphone. As soon as Robb would pick up the phone, Sansa would start chattering about something. Telling him about the funny thing that happened at work or something their Mom had told her.

She would sit on the couch, reading or knitting or doing something on her computer, smiling every so often as Robb interjected to one of Sansa’s stories, occasionally supplying information that Sansa couldn’t remember.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s awake,” he told Sansa into the phone. “Just a sec.” He then covered the mouthpiece and told her, “She wants to talk to you.”

“Okay,” she agreed. Robb pressed the button for speaker and she said, “ _Hi_.”

It was unclear whether her voice had just taken on that croak, or if she only just noticed it now.

“Oh Ella, you sound terrible,” Sansa lamented, “How do you feel?”

“I’m okay, really,” she told her, tears forming in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry I’m not there, I’m trying,” Sansa promised.

“Don’t,” Ella ordered.

“Don’t start with me,” Sansa ordered right back. “You would have swum across the Atlantic by now.”

“Well, you know I love the ocean,” she teased as lightly as she was able.

“It loves you right back,” Sansa told her.

A sob bubbled up in her chest so quickly that it caused a violent pain.

“Dovey, let me call you later,” Robb said quickly, and only then did she realize she was squeezing his hand. 

She didn’t hear what Sansa said in return, she was focusing on the sound of her breath, ignoring the way her tears stung her right cheek.

“Please,” Robb’s voice cut through, “Ella please take a little more medicine. Just to sleep, just to take the edge-“

“ _No_ ,” she argued.

“You were hit by a car,” he reminded her, “No one will think you’re weak.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” she gritted her teeth as she tried to breathe through it.

“Then wh-,” he started.

“Because a bit of pain is better than…,” she broke off, wondering if he knew everything about her the way she did about him.

It was strange, being able to count on two hands the number of one-on-one conversations they’d had with one another since they were old to drive, and yet laying here knowing his favorite food and every bad thing that had ever happened to him all the same.

“Haven’t you learned by now that you’re nothing like them?” he asked quietly.

“I inherited my mother’s look and my father’s hatred of coconuts,” she pointed out and then admitted, “And I have no intention of ever finding out what else.”

***

He could smell garbage and the East River and a hundred other things that he was grateful not to be able to identify, but the air still felt fresh to him as he left the hospital. It was still dark, but the city had the cadence of someone waking up.

There was traffic already on First Avenue. Buses with their screeching sighs as they halted at red lights, taxi drivers using their horns liberally, dipping in between delivery trucks and commuters on the early shift. There were bike messengers and people walking their dogs.

He headed west on 30th, where it was quieter, Citibikes stored next to a pile of garbage bags and the remnants of an old couch. Most of the lights were out in the apartments he passed, but a few were on and he averted his gaze, disliking the idea that someone walking by his apartment at night might not turn away. The stale fluorescent lighting of laundromats opening and two men laughing, smoking cigarettes outside of a bodega that had somehow withstood the rent increases.

No one paid him any much mind, and after his first sleepless evening he wasn’t entirely sure that he didn’t fit in here just a little bit better.

It was a matter of pride, for some in his office. How late they’d been out the night before, discussing a night out like others might a war and rebuffing others suggestions that they ought to _go home and take it easy_ with a practiced humility; martyrs for showing up to work on time.

On Fridays the guys didn’t even bother to hide it, there was no need to, when their boss would walk in double fisting coffee and Pedialyte. The women though, who even now had to work harder, covered their tired eyes with make-up, and only spoke of late nights when they’d been spent at the office.

He turned left and as though he’d been expected, his doorman opened the door, welcoming him inside. They’d changed shifts while he was gone, and he realized then that he didn’t know this one’s name. Usually he’d introduce himself, but he was eager to get upstairs so he nodded at him in thanks and went towards the elevator.

It climbed upwards and he pulled his phone and keys out of his pockets. He had some texts from Sansa he had to return, the way he’d hung up so quickly had left her spooked, though no more so than Ella’s undeniable sob.

He texted her to tell her that Ella was fine, in pain and exhausted, but fine. Which he knew wasn’t really the same thing.

When he’d gotten the call the night before he’d still been in his clothes from work and he shed them now, letting them fall on the floor of his apartment as he went into the bathroom. He turned on the shower, not bothering to wait for it to heat up. The cold would do more to wake him and he stuck his head underneath the water, feeling the heat behind his eyes dissipate as it pooled at his feet.

He washed himself quickly and brushed his teeth, wrapping a towel around his waist and tracking water on his floor as he went into his bedroom.

Forgoing the suit he’d usually grab he pulled on boxer briefs and a pair of joggers and a t shirt. He rubbed on some deodorant and then tossed it in his briefcase along with his toothbrush and toothpaste. He took the book his Dad had recommended off his night stand and dropped that in too, double checking to make sure that his power cord was inside.

After having to trek through one too many Chicago snowstorms to get to the office, he’d learned never to leave it without taking his computer with him. It wasn’t quite as easy without his dual monitors, but he had what he needed to turn Ella’s hospital room into a makeshift office.

She’d asked him not to. They’d gone around once or twice before he’d left, her urging him that he shouldn’t feel obligated and then more convincingly that there was nothing he could do. It wasn’t entirely true though. There was exactly one thing he could do.

Make sure she wasn’t alone.

_“Ella please, go to sleep, you can argue with me when you wake up,” he urged._

_“No I can’t, since you’ll be gone,” she offered primly. Then sweetly, “I’m serious, Robb, go get some sleep. You’re exhausted_.”

_“Yeah well,” he returned, “You’re exhausting.”_

Even in her state she knew how to take a joke, though the way she grimaced after she smiled made him feel guilty all the same. She seemed unable to do anything without experiencing pain, and it was impossible to tell whether her arguments were so efficient because she wanted them to be or because she’d prefer to speak as little as possible.

A nurse had come in to clean her up, and he’d agreed to go home and do the same. For all her arguing and teasing, her thank you had been genuine and had somehow forced a lump into his throat as they said goodbye.

She’d said it as though she might not get another chance. Like it was not only possible, but all but certain, that he wouldn’t return. He knew enough not to take it personally, and it made him sadder still. If she’d doubted him, that would be one thing, but she didn’t.

It seemed more like she doubted she was worth coming back for.

He grabbed a sweater and then a sweatshirt for her, in case she wanted something better than that hospital gown, and walked out of his apartment once again. On his way outside he dialed Sansa.

“Robb,” she answered after half a ring.

“Sorry about before,” he told her right away. “She just…”

“I heard,” Sansa told him, “Robb I’ve never… Ella doesn’t cry. I mean, she cries at commercials and An Affair to Remember but she doesn’t cry for _her_.”

“I’m not sure this makes it any better,” Robb said, “But I think she was crying for you.”

Silence. And then a sob.

“No that doesn’t make it _better_ ,” she told him.

He was really on a roll today.

“I’m sorry,” he told her, “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. I just think… look I… I think you know how happy I am that you’re there and doing so well and I don’t want to jeopardize anything but… don’t listen to her. I think you need to come home. For a few days. When you can.”

“There was no chance of me listening to her,” Sansa told him in a stronger voice, “I’m on the next flight out its just entirely unclear exactly when that will be.”

“Okay,” he breathed in gratitude.

“Are you still at the hospital?” she asked.

“No, I’m on my way back, I just went back to shower and grab a few things,” he explained.

“Are you going to pass a Duane Reade?” she asked.

He smirked, three different ones in his eyeline, “Of course I am.”

“I’m going to text you some things to pick up for her,” Sansa said, “I’ll venmo you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he dismissed it.

Sansa was silent for a moment and then said, “I know that I called you last night, and I’m so grateful you went. But I know I’m not the only one with a new job in a new city.”

“You sound like her,” he sighed.

“She doesn’t like to be taken care of,” Sansa noted.

“That might have been a good thing to mention,” he told her as he walked into the brightly lit pharmacy, “Before you sent me to take care of her.”

Sansa laughed and acknowledged the reason in that. He told her he was inside and rather than text him a list she walked him through the store. He got Ella a hairbrush and a toothbrush and toothpaste, deodorant, and some face clothes that he didn’t bother to tell Sansa the doctor might not want her using. Sansa also insisted he get her a pack of Pull’n’Peel Twizzlers though wouldn’t explain the randomness of it.

“You sound exhausted,” Sansa told him as he got outside.

“I’m fine,” he told her honestly. The shower and fresh air had done wonders. “I just need some coffee. What does Ella like?”

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “Starbucks?”

“Oh Robb,” Sansa chided.

He chuckled at her horror and looked around, “There’s a Birch on the next corner.”

“Much better,” Sansa encouraged, “She likes their café au laits. You will too.”

“Two café au laits it is,” he agreed.

“Thank you,” Sansa said with a shaky breath, “I’d like to say that I didn’t know you’d get sucked in like this, but the truth is, I was counting on it.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Just that…,” she started and then paused as he jogged across the street, “You’d never leave anyone when they needed you.”

“I’m not entirely sure I’m not making things worse,” he admitted.

“You’re not, you could never,” she told him sweetly, “But it’s more than that. There’s a reason I wanted you to call her.”

“Dovey,” he warned.

“Not for that, though it’s good to know where _your_ mind is,” Sansa teased, and then told him, “You’re my two _favorite_ people in the world, and I know you both think that’s based on little more than delusions but it’s not. Take a look, Robby, spend a little time with her and you’ll see. I’m right, about her. So, by that logic, maybe I’m right about you too.”

He smiled at her similar turn of phrase as much as what she’d said. He promised to keep her posted and then they hung up. He went into Birch Coffee and got to coffees and pointed at random things in their pastry case and then made his way back to the hospital.

He walked into the ER waiting room, seeing that Sam had gone home after he had. There was more activity though it was just after seven, and when he got to Ella’s room he saw that the lights were on.

To his surprise she was sitting up when he entered, the nurse must have adjusted her bed, and she gave him the half smile her face had conceded to.

“Look at you,” he couldn’t help but grin.

She closed her one opened eye and then opened it, “It’s amazing what having your teeth brushed can do for a girl.”

Even her voice sounded stronger. He’d only been gone an hour. Maybe he really wasn’t helping after all.

“Sansa knows you very very well,” he informed her, lifting the bag, “Toothbrush, toothpaste and some other toiletry things.”

“Thank you,” she told him, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Can you drink coffee?” he asked.

“I’ve been told it’s better when I do,” she admitted.

He chuckled and placed his briefcase down before he walked the coffee over to her, taking out the stopper, “Let me know if you need help with that.”

She took it from him and raised it gingerly to her lips. He watched for the same grimace but as though her body was better aligned at this altitude she didn’t seem in any pain, and her open eye closed as she tilted the cup up.

“Sansa knows me very very well,” she told him as she lowered the cup to her lap. “Thank you.”

“I have a way to make us even,” he told her, “If you mean it.”

“I mean it,” she told him, raising the coffee back to her lips.

He sat down on the bed gently and put his coffee on the table next to her and then reached into the plastic bag.

“Alright, there’s a story behind these,” he told her, proffering the bag of Pull’N’Peel Twizzlers, “And I’d like to know it.”

Ella took one look at them and then a laugh escaped her lips, followed by a grimace and an _ow_ and another laugh and then so on and so forth.

“What is happening and how do I stop it?” he wondered.

She couldn’t seem to stop smiling, even though her left hand seemed almost as though it was trying to force the right side of her face down.

“She must want you to know me, too,” she told him. He looked at her and she told him, “We’d decided to room together when our Dad’s found out we were both going to Columbia, but we hadn’t really seen each other since we were… what? Twelve? So the first day or so were kind of awkward because we knew we were _supposed_ to know each other and that made it all together worse than if we were complete strangers. Sound familiar?”

“A bit,” he admitted, his lips quirking.

“I had a bag of these,” she told him, “And I opened them. Sansa was kneeling on her bed, trying to make sure her Chanel poster was _exactly_ level with her Harry Styles poster,” she smiled when he laughed, “And I sat down on her bed and offered her one. She went to just chomp it like a heathen and I told her to peel it off one by one. She did and it broke halfway down and I decided that whoever that happened to had to tell the other a secret. We ate the whole package, trying to outdo one another with our wild secrets though we were far too young to have any real ones, and felt horribly sick afterwards, but after that… we weren’t strangers or roommates or friends, even.”

She didn’t have to say what they were. It was obvious to him even if Sansa hadn’t told him half a hundred times. He’d meant what he said the night before. Sansa loved him, fiercely, as he loved her, but she was no more bound to him than she was to Ella.

“It’s a little early for candy,” he reasoned.

“Yeah,” she agreed with a soft smile. It grew wider when he tore open the package anyway. He tilted it towards her and she held out her coffee cup so he took it from her, and she pulled a Twizzler from the bag. Or tried to anyway. She glanced at him and warned, “You may have to help me.”

So he warned back, “You may have to let me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd intended for this to be longer actually but liked the feeling of ending it there. Would love to know what you all think!


	3. They were not the nice kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey ya'll, I've been so busy with planning my move but I finally got inspiration for this! The start of this story is starting out angstier than I would have imagined but it'll definitely get fluffier as Myrcella and Robb get to know one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: There are discussions of addiction and conflicting opinions. These opinions belong to the characters, not to me, and I would not be surprised if some felt they are insensitive. The characters are all coming from a conflicted place, as I think is very typical for people who have watched what addiction can do to those around the person suffering to both understand that it is a disease and also not forgive them for the pain that has been inflicted on others. I am in NO way an expert (not that anyone would mistake me for one!) but I'm going to try to handle it with care but also in a way that feels true to the characters I'm writing and the story I'm telling.

It was hard to think about anything except the discomfort. When she did, it had a way of reminding her. If she laughed, she would feel it in her whole body. If she smiled, the right side of her face would creak and throb.

She did her best to hide it, not wanting Robb to try to convince her yet again to take more pain medication or worse yet, look at her with sad, knowing eyes that told her he knew everything about her just as she knew everything of him.

There was one thought though that pulled her out of her discomfort, even as a pit formed in her stomach.

“Robb,” she interrupted him as he was typing on his computer. It was just after eight but he’d signed on to his computer a few minutes prior and had been typing away ever since. He stopped what he was doing and turned to look at her and she asked, “Do you know if they have my bag?”

His brow furrowed for a moment and then he shook his head, “I hadn’t heard, I can ask. A cop stopped by last night, maybe they have it. Do you need something from it?”

“My phone,” she admitted, and then, afraid he would think she was some foolish girl who’d want to post about her accident explained, “I need to call my office.”

Understanding washed over his features and she realized that a part of him had thought that’s what she wanted. That she was some sort of wannabe influencer who would post about her brush with death.

“Let me go check,” Robb stood up, “But do you want me to call from my phone? I can explain…”

She shook her head and then winced and she watched as he moved to cross to her and then stopped himself.

“I need to talk to my boss,” she told him, taking deep breaths, “And my admin. I’m leaving them in such a lurch.”

He looked at her sternly for a moment and then grabbed his phone off of the little table he’d set himself up at. Robb walked it over to her and lifted her left hand gingerly and placed it in it.

“I’ll go check at the front desk, alright?” he asked.

“Thank you,” she said, looking at him with her one opened eye, hoping he could see the sincerity.

She hadn’t realized how gestural she was until every one of them hurt. Now though, she had so very little at her disposal to convince him that she was grateful.

He may know everything about her, but he did not know her.

“Do you know their numbers?” he asked.

“Our main line will connect me,” she explained.

He nodded and looked at her like he wanted to stay, like he wanted to be there to amend whatever she might say. Like he didn’t trust her not to promise to be there within the hour.

So perhaps, he knew a little.

“I’ll be good,” she teased gently and his eyes softened and then his lips formed a smirk that seemed intent on not becoming a smile.

He nodded at her and walked out of the room, so she dialed her office’s main line. As expected her call was answered immediately and she requested to be connected to her admin’s cell phone first so that she could go to her boss with a plan rather than a problem.

It was what distinguished her, he’d told her and others more than once. He was an oily, smarmy man who did not shy away from playing favorites publicly and ruthlessly pitting his employees against one another, but she could not deny that he had been one of her biggest advocates since she’d started at the firm as an intern during college.

There had been, there were, other favorites at the office, and she did her best to distinguish herself from them. She didn’t mind that they called her an Ice Princess if it meant they all knew she’d done nothing untoward to gain his affection. There was never a meeting between the two of them behind closed doors, and her neckline never fell below her clavicle. She worked late, but mostly at home so that no one could accuse her of brown nosing, and when Mr. Baelish doled out praise, she mentioned the other team members by name as he always failed to.

She was a favorite because she had earned it. She’d been with the company in one capacity or another for five years, being promoted at twenty-three to where she was now, picking up a title or two along the way. But because she had earned it the old-fashioned way, there was nothing personal between them. There was no affection, their relationship was transactional. She was a high performer and as such an asset.

The moment she failed to be so, there would be no soft cushion to break her fall.

“Hello?” Gilly answered the phone on the first ring.

“Gilly it’s me, Myrcella,” she greeted her, trying to keep the croak from her voice.

“Myrcella? You sound awful!” Gilly gasped.

“I was in a little accident,” she explained.

“A little accident?” Gilly asked.

Myrcella swallowed, “I was on my way home last night and I was hit by a car.”

“Wait!” Gilly ordered, “Were you in that taxi on Park Avenue? Oh my god I just heard about it on the news. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she told her, which earned her a scowl from Robb as he entered the room empty-handed. “But I’m in the hospital and won’t be in the office today.”

“You think?” Gilly argued and she smiled and then winced.

“I don’t have any of my things,” she told her, “And I’m meant to have the…” then glanced at Robb. Everything she did was confidential, but so was what he did and he’d handed her his cell phone – his work phone – and left her alone with it seemingly without a second thought. “The Hornwood meeting today.”

“I can ask Mr. Baelish to -,” Gilly started.

“I think you should do it,” she interrupted.

“Me? No,” Gilly noted, “I’m not ready.”

“You know it better than anyone, even me,” she reminded her, “I’m going to ask Mr. Baelish to be in it, so that they don’t get upset about not having someone more senior. But I think you should lead it.”

Gilly was silent for a moment and the way she was holding the phone hurt. She glanced at Robb.

“Do you mind if I put this on speaker?” she asked.

He shook his head and walked over, taking the phone from her and putting it on speaker and then easing her back against the pillows.

“Thank you,” she said to him and then to Gilly, “Gilly? What do you think?”

“I think I’m going to vomit,” Gilly informed her and she winced as she smiled, catching one of Robb’s own.

“You know this,” she reminded her, “And you’ve spoken to them before. Just don’t feel the need to fill the silences, alright? Make your point and then stop. The stupidest, most detrimental promises are always made trying to fill a silence in a meeting. You can let them know why I’m not there and I’ll call them this afternoon so that they feel appropriately coddled. Okay?”

“If I lose this business in front of Mr. Baelish, I’m fired,” Gilly told her. Then added, “I’m not you. He doesn’t even know my name.”

“He will, after today,” she noted, then added, “And if you don’t feel comfortable I will ask Mr. Baelish to do it on his own, but he’s not going to know it like you, who gathered half the information and tested me on the rest. I promise you that you will not be fired. This is my fuck-up-“

“YOU WERE HIT BY A CAR,” Gilly and Robb informed her at once.

“Who was that?” Gilly asked.

“Just some random in the ER,” she teased and Robb chuckled. “Gilly.”

“Yes,” Gilly said, “I’ll do it. Of course I’ll do it. I’ll just vomit about it.”

“There’s a brand new toothbrush in my desk drawer,” Myrcella noted.

Gilly laughed, “Of course there is. What can I do for you?”

“Unfortunately quite a lot,” she sighed. “Can you please put an out of office on, and reschedule my internal meetings from today?”

“Already done,” Gilly noted, “I’m also pushing your ones from Monday. And I’ll send a note to HR. What else?”

She glanced at Robb, who was typing away on his computer.

“I lost my cell phone, can you request another from IT, please? And send an intern with it and my laptop etc. to Tisch?” she asked, speeding up her request as Robb stopped typing.

“I’ll bring it by on my way home,” Gilly told her. “But today you need to rest.”

She averted Robb’s gaze, knowing it would be triumphant.

“Fine, I’ll check in at three after the meeting,” she sighed. “Can you please connect me to Mr. Baelish?”

“He can’t be angry at you for being hit by a car,” Gilly noted.

“I’m not afraid of him being angry at me,” she noted truthfully. Too truthfully. “I just want to let him know the plan. Thank you, Gilly. You’re an all-star and he’s going to know it.”

Her admin wished her well and then the line was ringing again. He answered on the third ring.

She explained the situation and watched Robb’s jaw clench as Mr. Baelish’s faux-concern disappeared when she reminded him of the Hornwood meeting.

“Gilly?” Baelish asked once she’d told him the plan. “She doesn’t exactly have your…” her boss trailed off as he tried to think of the word and she closed her eyes so she didn’t have to look at Robb, “Polish.”

“She’s brilliant,” she argued without hesitation, “I’ve worked on this for weeks. If I didn’t think she could do it, I would tell you.”

“Well,” Mr. Baelish noted, “Your judgment is rarely proven wrong. But if she disappoints…”

“Then _I_ will accept the consequences,” she told him. “She’s an admin, Mr. Baelish, being asked to step into something she has not prepared for by me. If something goes wrong, it’s on me.”

“As you wish, Miss Baratheon,” Baelish sighed, then asked as an afterthought, “Are you being cared for?”

“Very well,” she told him, “Thank you for your concern.”

“You’re a very valued member of our team,” Mr. Baelish said. _As long as you remain valuable,_ he did not have to add when he all but ordered, “Recover soon.”

“Thank you, Mr. Baelish,” she gritted.

They hung up and she opened her eyes. Robb was sitting in the chair, not pretending to type, just looking at her.

“Thank you,” she lifted the phone towards him.

“Can she do it?” Robb asked.

“If she lets herself,” she admitted. “Him being there won’t help but there’s nothing to be done about that.”

“A lot of people would have told him that no one else could do it,” Robb noted.

“He’s not going to fire her,” she argued.

“That’s not what-,” Robb ran his hand through his hair and gestured towards her, “I just mean he’s clearly a dick and you gave up an opportunity to prove how invaluable you are. It’s –“

“Stupid?” she guessed.

He grinned, “I was going to say honorable, but in this city maybe they’re one in the same.”

“You really don’t like it here at all, do you?” she asked.

“I hate it,” he admitted.

“Well maybe that’s just because -,” she started.

“I haven’t tried to like it?” he guessed.

The left side of her face smiled and she said, “I was going to say _because you live in Murray Hill_ , but in this city maybe they’re one in the same.”

He chuckled, “Fair enough.”

“Robb,” she said, wondering what it was about him that made her want to needle. She should have just been grateful he was here, it wasn’t as though anyone else was coming. And yet sitting here with him felt strange in that it didn’t. So, she had to know. “Why didn’t you? Call me, I mean, when you moved here.”

“Probably the same reason you’ve been trying to kick me out ever since you woke up,” he smiled sadly. “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to… take me in or anything and… I don’t know. You know uh… it’s been sort of nice, not being around anyone who knows about the divorce.”

“That makes sense,” she agreed, trying to adjust herself and waving him off when he went to come help her. He walked over anyway and his hands moved her gingerly. He was so close to her and she looked at him, “I wouldn’t have made you talk about it, if you didn’t want to.”

He released her and rubbed the back of his head, sitting down on the bed beside her, clearly weighing his words and finally settled on, “Sansa told me that, actually. But you still know. And you’re still looking at me like that.”

“Hey, I was t-boned,” she reminded him, “Maybe this is just what my face looks like now.”

“Yeah maybe,” his eyes smiled at her. 

“Robb…,” she started warily.

“Yes?” he asked just as wary, clearly afraid she was going to go against what she’d said and ask him about Roslin.

She hadn’t been planning on it, but if she had been the look in his eyes would have convinced her not to.

“What does it look like?” she asked, “My face.”

He looked at her sadly, “Like you got t-boned.”

And then his hand was covering hers, making her realize she was squeezing the other. She didn’t even remember taking it.

She hated that she cared. She could have died, after all, as he was so intent on reminding her. It was silly and vain and childish to care, and it proved her to be a liar.

She’d always claimed an indifference towards her prettiness, but she knew, it was easy to be indifferent towards something you felt like you’d never lose.

“Can I see?” she asked.

To his credit he didn’t treat her like a foolish girl. He removed his hand from atop hers and grabbed the phone that was resting between them off the bed, swiping and then tilting it towards her.

She took in her reflection, skipping over the easy smoothness of the left side of her face and getting lost in the rocky path of the right. It was no wonder that it felt better when her eye was closed, as it was nearly swollen shut, a heavy lump hanging over it like snow that had yet to fall from a roof. It was a hundred different colors. The angry purples made the unscathed bits look all the paler. She knew enough to know that it wasn’t the bumps that ought to concern her, but the stitches on her jaw and cheek and temple.

He seemed to understand when she was done and pulled the phone away, placing it on the bed.

“Ella…,” he started.

“No, it’s just funny, is all,” she told him.

“How on earth could this be funny?” he asked.

She swallowed down the lump in her throat and forced as much lightness into her voice as she could manage.

“No, it’s just… my whole life people have told me I look just like my mother,” she noted, “I think they’re finally right.”

He knew she was full of it, she could see it right there in his eyes and she knew then that he had been right not to call her. There were certain things you couldn’t hide when you both knew they were there, no matter how badly you wanted to.

It was clear he didn’t want to accept the joke, which was why his choked laugh was all the more gratifying.

“Thank you,” she told him, “For showing me. Though don’t tell Sansa that you did.”

“What do you take me for?” he asked and then glanced at her, “You won’t believe anything I say about it, will you?”

“You don’t have to say anything,” she assured him and then noted, “But for the record – I’d believe anything you said about anything.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because you never lie,” she answered without thought.

She didn’t blame him for being surprised by the conviction in her voice. It wasn’t as though she’d had many occasions to see it for herself.

“Sansa tell you that?” he asked. He didn’t give her time to answer and warned, “You shouldn’t believe everything she says about me.”

“Likewise,” she noted.

She could only imagine the picture Sansa had painted for him. It would be nice, to be that girl, but she knew she never had been and never would be.

Robb looked at her and shrugged, “You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in real life.”

Still. As though it was something they’d spoken about before. Or as though it were so obvious it had never been worth mentioning.

“Lumps and all?” she teased, because she wasn’t sure what else to say.

“Yeah Ella,” he agreed, “Lumps and all.”

She went to tilt her head to the side, but it was the wrong one and she winced, unable to stop the noise that escaped her lips.

“Ella, please take a little more, just to help you sleep,” he asked and his free hand was gripping the bed as though he was physically restraining himself from pressing the button for her.

“No,” she told him firmly, because she knew he’d rather swallow razor blades than go against her consent.

“A little medication is not going to -,” he started.

“I said no,” she all but snapped, ignoring the shot of pain that went through her.

“You also said you’d believe anything I said and I’m telling you this,” he snapped back.

“You’re right,” she sighed.

“So, you’ll take some?” he asked.

“No,” she swallowed, “I shouldn’t have said that. I should have known better than that.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Just because you never lie,” she told him, “Doesn’t mean you know the truth.”

He looked at her, “I do know. What you’re afraid of, and I don’t blame you for it. But this is different.”

“It’s a disease,” she contradicted, because for all of their other faults she could blame her family for this no more than a history of cancer.

“I know that,” he agreed. “I’m not suggesting it’s a choice. I’m only… you’re so strong.”

“I told you not to believe everything Sansa said about me,” she reminded him.

He looked at her and nodded, “I know. And she told me I’d see it for myself. I’m with her on this one.”

Her lip quivered foolishly. It was a selfish thought, one she’d had so many times since Sansa left New York. She was so happy for her, after everything getting to move to Paris and pursue her dream. It was the stuff of fairy tales, just like Sansa was. And she was so proud. But she missed her terribly.

It was like a phantom limb, a nothingness that ached all the same.

And of course, Sansa, who always claimed Ella was her strength would be the one to find a way to take care of her when she was half a world away.

So she placed her faith in Sansa, and therefore in him.

“I don’t feel strong,” she admitted, tears running down her face. He squeezed her hand and she closed her eyes, “I want to push that button _so_ badly.”

“Because you’re in pain, Ella,” he urged gently.

She opened her left eye and pointed out, “So were they, Robb.”

*

She had never watched daytime television. Even in college when girls in her dorm were religiously devoted to the talk shows or the soap operas, she’d never had much interest in it.

Having now watched it, she did not regret staying away.

It was fascinating in a way, the moody music and insane plot lines, but after an hour or so she found the voices taxing and her eye hurt too much to read the subtitles so she shut it off.

Robb had worked much of the morning, a pair of AirPods in his ears, nodding his head as he typed away on his computer. He’d taken a few calls and she’d been surprised that he’d only left the room for one of them.

It wasn’t entirely clear what he did, except advising caution and patience. He had a very calm, measured way of speaking with his clients, seeming to wait a full beat to ensure they were done speaking rather than barrel on ahead the way so many advisors seemed to. She tried not to listen to any specifics, not that much of it meant anything to her anyway, but she heard enough to know that his clients trusted him. Some even enough to travel with him to New York when he’d left his firm in Chicago.

He’d gone to the cafeteria to pick up lunch for himself after she’d demurred. The act of chewing hurt too much, far more than any rumbling in her stomach, and had eaten a BLT and made her watch Family Feud. He was entirely too good at it, whereas according to him, her answers were entirely too logical.

When the programming switched she turned to look at him but found that his head had tilted back and he’d finally fallen asleep. She felt that triumph that new parents did whenever their baby was sleeping.

She considered trying to sleep as well, but as it was nearing two she didn’t want to miss the opportunity to check in with Gilly or with the Hornwoods.

Even still her mind had started to drift when there was a gentle tap on the door. She opened her left eye and started to sit up when she saw a man standing there, only to wince and fall back against the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“I’m alright,” she lied, wishing Robb was awake so that he could move her in that easy way of his. She adjusted herself and took a deep breath and tried to open both eyes. “Are you a doctor?”

Looking at him now, she wanted to groan. He certainly didn’t look like a doctor, in black jeans and a black button down, long curly hair pulled back into a bun. Not to mention the fact that he was gorgeous and she sounded like a fool and looked worse than that.

“No, Miss, I’m Officer Jon Snow,” he told her, “I was first on the scene last night.”

“Oh,” she cleared her throat, trying to sit up and give him the respect he deserved, “Thank you.”

“Please don’t,” he said, and then amended, “I mean, stay however you’re most comfortable.”

“I’m sorry but you would you mind coming a little closer?” she asked quietly and gestured to Robb with her left hand, “I just got him to sleep.”

Officer Snow looked at Robb and smirked and then picked up one of the other chairs and brought it over to her bedside. It felt very strange, for a man she didn’t know to be this close to her. Suddenly she was aware of the fact that she was just in a hospital gown in a way she hadn’t thought of when it was Robb she was speaking to.

She tried as subtly as possible to lift the blanket further up her body. Officer Snow’s gaze didn’t miss it, but he said nothing and lifted his eyes to hers, looking at her with a promise that they would remain there.

“Is the driver alright?” she asked.

“The taxi driver? He’s fine,” Officer Snow confirmed, “But he won’t talk.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” she noted.

“I know,” the officer noted, “But…”

“No it was mine,” she told him, having remembered it more clearly early that morning, “I screamed and he panicked.”

“There was a driver coming at you,” Officer Snow pointed out, “Of course you screamed. Of course he panicked.”

“But if I had… if I hadn’t reacted that way, maybe… I don’t know,” she admitted. Then glanced at him, “And the other driver?”

“Still in surgery,” he informed her, “His second.”

“Will he make it?” she asked.

“His sort usually do,” Office Snow’s tone suggested he wouldn’t mind a different outcome.

“What will happen to him?” she asked.

Officer Snow nodded at Robb, “As I assured your boyfriend, I’ll throw the book at him.”

“Oh he’s not…,” she started, stupidly focusing on that most insignificant detail.

“I’m sorry, he said he was responsible for you so I just assumed,” the officer admitted.

“Of course he did,” she sighed and then glanced at the officer, “Are there other options?”

“For the two of -,” Snow started and then blushed and looked at her, “You meant for the driver, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” she tried not to smile, “I did.”

He grinned and for a moment she couldn’t help but think of Ned Stark. He was such a serious man, as Officer Snow seemed to be, but his whole face transformed when he smiled, his eyes lighting with mirth.

Sansa always said that you could tell more from a man’s smile than you could from his frown, as long as you knew what to look for.

Officer Snow tilted his head back and forth, “He’s not going to get let off the hook. The city won’t allow it first of all. And second of all, he shouldn’t.”

She opened her mouth to start talking but a violent cough overtook her body instead. It caused pain to shoot through her ribs and down her spine.

“What are you doing here?” she heard beside her and turned to look at Robb, another pain going through her.

He turned to look at her as well and sighed but stood up and then his hands were there, moving her in that gentle way of his and then suddenly her blanket was tucked up under her chin and a cup of water was to her lips.

She took a sip and regained her breath and he put the cup back on the table beside her, sitting down on the bed next to her. He gave her the impression that he’d like to be sitting on her other side but he didn’t risk it, given that was where her injuries were.

Her head was throbbing and she closed her eyes and settled back against the bed.

“I told you I’d call when she was ready to talk,” Robb noted to Officer Snow.

“It was on my way,” Snow told him.

“I also told you I wanted a lawyer present when she spoke to you,” Robb pointed out.

She didn’t know exactly when the two of them had gotten so acquainted, but it seemed like they were used to talking around her, so she let the pain settle in her body as they took the measure of one another.

“And I told you she doesn’t need one,” Officer Snow noted.

“Ella what did you tell him so far?” Robb asked her.

“Um…” she pretended that her brain was fuzzy.

“She told me it was her fault,” Officer Snow sold her out, “So maybe the lawyer thing wasn’t a bad idea.”

“Ella?” Robb asked.

“Hmm,” she mused.

“Ella,” Robb chuckled and she opened her left eye, “Are you kidding me?”

She ignored him and looked at Officer Snow as much as she could without moving, “We were discussing options.”

“Options?” Robb asked.

“For the driver,” Snow said and then clarified, “The drunk driver.”

“I have some ideas,” Robb informed them both.

“He won’t be let off without jail time,” Snow told her.

“What about treatment,” she suggested.

Officer Snow was already looking at her but Robb’s head snapped to her as well. She avoided his gaze but felt his hand covering hers anyway and didn’t miss the way Officer Snow’s eyes flicked to it as well.

“Treatment,” Officer Snow said.

“And community service,” Ella noted, “Maybe educating teens on the hazards of drunk driving or… I don’t know…”

“Working with the family members of victims of drunk driving,” Robb all but spat.

“Robb please,” she chided.

“No Ella, he could have killed you, and since you don’t seem to care about that, let me remind you that you were not alone in that car,” Robb ordered, “Or on that street. He could have taken out a city block for all we know and I’m sorry but he deserves more than passing out pamphlets for that. He’s not yours to _save_.”

He kept saying these things like they’d had the discussion before. Like they’d gone round and round and round a hundred different times. As though they were picking up where they’d left off before intermission, but she couldn’t quite place the first act.

“He’s also not mine to destroy,” Ella noted and then looked at Officer Snow, “You tell me, Officer. How many people go into jail without an addiction and come out with one. More or less than the other way around?”

“There are programs…” Snow noted and then sighed, “But it’s more.”

“Who is that helping?” she wondered, glancing at Robb, “Will it mend my ribs? Remove these stitches? Or does it make it _more_ likely that it will happen again? And who is to say the next person will be as lucky?”

“You could have died,” Robb told her once again. “Think about what that would have done to your f-what that would have done to the people who love you, to Sansa. Damn it, Ella, you’ve been through this before, you know what it is to –“

“Yes,” she snapped, “I know exactly what it is to send a man to prison.”

Robb sighed, “That’s not what I was going to say.”

“I know the difference between justice and punishment,” she reminded him, “I thought you did too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> So what do we think? Worth continuing?
> 
> oh also I'm sure most of my hospital stuff isn't accurate but that's not really what I'm here for 😉


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